


Oh Mickey, You’re So Fine

by cinnamon_skull, TaneKore



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Jason being smitten, M/M, Pining, Tim being a dork, Tim has terrible fashion sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_skull/pseuds/cinnamon_skull, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaneKore/pseuds/TaneKore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim’s so fine, he blows Jason’s mind — even when he’s wearing a dorky Mickey Mouse sweater and tight red pants. Or: a story about how Tim has no sense of style, and yet, Jason wants to get into his (ugly, red) pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Mickey, You’re So Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tanekore's lovely Mickey! Tim. Blows kisses - you spoil me and inspire me, how are you a real person?

 

 

“Drake’s never on time,” Damian complained. “We said we’d meet a quarter to eight.”

“He’s only five minutes late,” Dick responded, playfully cuffing Damian on the shoulder. “Relax.”

There was a scuffle as Damian tried to low-key strangle Dick for telling him how to feel, which only made Jason notice how tall he’d grown in the past year. Even with the ridiculous boots Dick wore, Damian still had a few inches on him. Jason still hadn't gotten used to his new height. 

Even as Damian pulled sharply at his hair with a tight arm around his neck, Dick was grinning, so Jason decided he didn’t need to interfere.

What a couple of _weirdos_.

He ignored them and turned to Steph, who was standing beside him with her arms crossed, one hand wrapped around a purple phone. Jason noticed her nails were painted black.

“You look…” Jason trailed off, trying to think of an appropriate topic of discussion that wouldn’t result in one of Steph’s famous right hooks. Or a brick to the face. “Did you get taller?”

Steph rolled her eyes, but there was something warm there that put Jason at ease. “Good to see you too, Jason.”

He might have imagined it, but she sounded like she meant it.

“Hey Steph,” Dick called, having safely diffused Damian, who was currently sitting on the curb with his long legs stretched out into the street. He kicked an empty soda can viciously across the grey, dirty pavement. “Alfred mentioned you were looking for some intel on the Court?”

Steph brightened. “Oh yeah, he said you might be able to help. Something doesn’t feel right about this case, and I’d love to pick your brain.”

“Absolutely,” Dick said, looking at Steph fondly, like there wasn’t anything he’d rather do than talk for hours and hours. Jason remembered from his Robin days that Dick really did like the sound of his own voice and took every opportunity to croon out a top 40 hit. “Let’s meet up when we get back to the manor.”

“Does anyone even want to see this movie?” Damian asked sullenly from the curb.

His sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing, cutting between Steph and Dick with a look that spoke so clearly of murder. “We could be doing actual work instead of watching some mediocre spy fumble his way through an impossible plot, poorly trying to kill crime lords who also like cats.”

“That’s one self-help group I’d love to attend,” Steph cut in. “Crime lords crying over their addictions to cute kitty pictures on the Internet is a growing epidemic.”

“It’s not just crime lords,” Jason added with a smirk. “Dick’s phone is filled with pictures of fuzzy pussies.”

“I thought you were worried about us being late to the movie?” Dick asked gently, looking down at Damian and flashing a 100-watt smile -- ignoring Jason in the process. If anything, it seemed to make Damian more agitated. “It’s okay to like things that don’t have anything to do with your job. You’re a teenager, you’re supposed to want to go to the movies.”

Damian’s scowl deepened. “I am _not_ a child.”

“You’re just mad only the villains get pets,” Jason teased. “Doesn’t exactly bode well for you, psycho boy.”

“Speaking of, ever notice how all the bad guys have really bad scars, Todd?” Damian shot back with an ugly look on his face.

But Jason was only half-listening. He heard Dick’s sharp _“Damian,”_ before a flash of light caught his attention. A rumbling purr quickly followed, and Jason twisted his head to watch Tim slowly ease into a free spot across from where they were standing.

It wasn’t a sharp turn by any means, but Tim’s body looked so in control of the swift pull of engine that Jason was helpless to stare. Even with the overcast, dusky sky, Jason could see the razor angles of Tim’s shoulder blades beneath his sweater as he released pressure on the throttle and maneuvered the bike into a tight spot.

He swallowed hard and tried to dial back his interest before Dick picked up on it with his super annoying sexual tension senses (SASTS as Roy had dubbed it). Anytime anyone had a crush, even if was a fleeting spark of interest, Dick sniffed it out like some love hound. And then he’d try to play matchmaker, only to make things a thousands times more awkward and ruining any and all chances for romance (or dirty, beautiful, hot sex) in the process.

It wasn’t Jason’s fault that he found motorcycles — and consequently, their drivers — so appealing. Besides, Tim was too young for him, too matter-of-fact to find Jason interesting or exciting in that way. It didn’t matter that they’d paired up more than once on the streets of Gotham as Red Hood and Red Robin. Jason had too much baggage, and he didn’t really even know if Tim liked men.

And yet, sometimes while out on patrol he’d catch Tim looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time, head tilted and mouth pulled taut in concentration, a bright spark of interest igniting his gaze. In those moments, Jason often felt as if he were a question mark in a case Tim was slowly trying to piece together. But then some maniac would fire a gun or trigger an explosion, and the moment would be over.

Jason heard a sharp intake of breath, and then Steph hissed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

For a moment, he thought he’d been caught staring. But when he turned to face her, Steph’s gaze was focused entirely on Tim as he keyed off the bike and slid back his helmet. He took his time, peeling off a pair of beat up leather gloves that he jammed into his back pocket.

As Tim approached their group, his dramatic entrance was felled by the stray soda can from earlier, which he tripped over spectacularly. Only his reflexes and years of training saved him from falling completely on his ass.

“Are you serious right now?” Steph asked, leveling Tim with a glare to end all glares. She made broken glass look friendly.

“What?” Tim gave her a confused, lost-puppy look that made something in Jason’s chest ache.

Steph threw up her hands. “You are so embarrassing!”

Tim looked around at the nearly empty parking lot. There were a few couples loitering under dimly-lit street lamps but not much else to look at.

“That could have happened to anyone, it’s not my fault people don’t recycle,” he started to say, but Steph interrupted him by jabbing a finger into the center of his chest.

“Every person I know who drives a bike like _that_ has a leather jacket. You just have…” Steph gestured angrily at Tim, like his entire being personally offended her.

“What’s wrong with my sweater?” Tim asked, looking down at the offending piece of clothing in utter confusion.

For the first time, Jason registered Tim’s outfit. Objectively… it wasn’t good. But Jason had never been good at being objective when it came to Tim Drake. He was unreliable at best and _completely smitten_ at worst.

 

 

 

 

 

Tim was dressed in a hideous white and red Mickey Mouse sweater from the early ‘80s that someone must have dropped off at a secondhand store before Tim, thinking he’d hit the jackpot, scooped it out from the bottom a some super savings dollar bin.

The kind of bin they put the stuff they were _this close_ to throwing away.

Tim had matched the awful Mickey sweater with a pair of equally blinding red skinny jeans and white converse, making him look like a waspy vacationer that took a stroll through every single tourist trap on his way back to Gotham.

“Drake, did Alfred let you dress yourself again?” Damian scoffed from the curb. He seemed in much better spirits after almost causing Tim to eat pavement. “Last time that happened, you wore that ridiculous green tux.”

Tim smiled wistfully, ignoring Damian’s slight. “That tux was amazing, best thing I ever bought. I _wish_ it still fit.”

“Tim,” Steph said miserably. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Tim said carefully, pulling the sweater away from his chest to look down the front. “It’s not that bad. Besides, Mickey is a _classic_.”

“Not that bad?” she echoed hollowly. “We talked about this, Tim! What happened to all the new clothes we bought? The outfits I’ve painstaking pulled together for you? The hours I have put in trying to make you halfway presentable to the world.”

The fire engine red pants were a mistake, Jason could recognize that. But the way the tight fabric clung to Tim’s ass had to be _illegal_. And there was something just so...Tim…about the disjointed, jarring mix of childhood nostalgia (so far, far away from any of their own experiences growing up) and the bruises Jason knew were crawling up Tim’s chest underneath Mickey’s playful smile.

Jason had seen them, after all, seen Tim take a knee to his stomach and a few kicks too, before he’d been able to reach him last night on patrol. And Jason had had fun, hurting those men, feeling the snap of bone under his fingers and the sharp cries of pain ringing out like a form of twisted beat poetry.

“Took you long enough,” Tim had commented lightly from the ground, his voice only a little raspy from the fight and his lips smeared with blood. But he'd accepted Jason's outstretched hand to help him up. “You missed all my good moves.”

“I'm sure they were great,” Jason had played along. “Real smooth. Real _pretty_.”

He couldn't say why he'd mentioned the last part out loud. Tim had gone completely still, only his lips moving like he had something he was working up to say, but then sirens had blared at the end of the alley, and they were left scaling a fire escape to lose the flashes of red and blue.

Looking at Tim now, even with everything, Jason knew why he'd said it.

The sweater was thinning in its old age, and it was just a little too tight around the shoulders, and _that_ made Jason lick his lips. He had to wonder if Tim had always been this good-looking right under his nose. Or was he just getting soft? 

“Whatcha looking at there, Jaybird?” Dick whispered from behind him.

“Just admiring some vintage Mickey Mouse, Big D,” Jason said quickly, only just managing to stop himself from jumping. He pulled his eyes away from the curve of Tim’s waist to meet Dick’s amused look. “Could be worth a lot to an avid collector.”

“Oh,” Dick said in a way that Jason knew he’d been caught staring red-handed. “You know a lot of mafia bosses in Gotham who like Disney?”

“Well, Roy’s been known to dress like a princess every now and then,” Jason admitted softly.

“Really?” Dick asked, looking a little dazed, and for a second Jason thought that image was enough to distract the eldest Robin from the situation at hand. But it only lasted a moment before Dick was back to smirking at him. “I think we both know you like more than Tim’s Mickey Mouse sweater.”

“Woah, look at the time!” Jason announced loudly without glancing at his phone. “We’re going to miss the movie if we don’t move our asses.”

That got Steph’s attention, who had been very sternly scolding Tim for the past several minutes. Tim looked red around the ears and adorably apologetic, and Jason had to fight down a grin because he could still feel Dick’s eyes on him.

“Finally,” Damian said, pushing off from the curb and leading the way to the now crowded theater entrance. “Grayson, I require popcorn. With extra butter.”

Dick laughed and followed the teenager, but not before turning back to Jason to whisper, “I totally caught you, Jaybird.”

He shot him a look over his shoulder that told Jason he was in for a long night of Dick playing matchmaker.

As he stood waiting in line behind Steph and Tim to purchase his ticket -- trying really, really hard not to stare at Tim’s perfect ass -- he resigned himself to a night filled with disastrous consequences.

 

< // >

 

How they had ended up at the movies was a story in itself.

Bruce had taken Damian to a high-brow charity function at a stuffy art gallery up town, which was his first mistake. And then he’d left him alone, only to find him later at the center of a small crowd, beating the shit out of a slightly older kid nearly twice his size.

Alfred had sniffed when he saw all the blood on Damian’s white cuffs.

Bruce had been furious.

“Damian,” Bruce had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have to act like a normal kid in public.”

“Well, normal _-ish_ ,” Dick added. “You are the son of a billionare playboy.”

Bruce’s glare intensified.

“I’m well _enough_ adjusted,” Damian argued. “It isn’t my fault that kid underestimated my strength and thought it would be a good idea to insult my family.”

“Look, kid,” Jason had chimed in, pushing off the side of the batmobile where he’d be quietly observing the family fight. “You don’t want a bad reputation, it’ll just make the press more interested in tailing you.”

“Oh, is that why yesterday’s headline read _Heartless Red Hood Blows Up Hospital_?” Damian sneered. “Because they _like_ you?”

“They don’t understand him,” Tim said suddenly, swivelling in his chair to face them. He'd been sitting in front of the main computer system logging a report, and the screen bathed the side of his face in a soft blue hue that had nothing on his eyes. “You don’t want them to do the same to you.”

Dick shot Jason a curious look over Damian’s shoulder, which he ignored.Tim was just trying to help Damian, that was all.

They all knew what happened when the cowl became everything. Damian needed some normal time in his life -- it couldn’t be stakeouts and dodging bullets and blood all the time.

And so, at the request of Bruce, and a strongly worded scolding from Alfred, they had made a plan to do something...normal...together, at least once a month. It wasn’t like they had a lot of free time and catching summer blockbusters wasn’t high on their list of priorities.

But it was important for Damian, as much as Jason was loathe to admit it.

Of course Dick worked his “magic” within the first five minutes of their group purchasing popcorn and sodas at the concession stand. Once inside the theater, Jason found himself wedged between Tim, who had an aisle seat, and Dick, who was making a show of leaning toward Damian and Steph and blatantly ignoring Jason.

Jason could have sworn Steph had been standing next to Tim two seconds ago, too. But there she was, sitting next to Damian with her legs propped up on the seat in front of her. He watched her push the armrest between them up until she could lean against Damian, who got even more prickly and sullen when Dick laughed at his discomfort. A PTA-looking mom sitting a few seats over turned around to glare, but Steph just smiled wickedly until she moved her seat. 

_Fucking Dick._

Jason stared at the popcorn in his lap for as long as he could stand before Tim’s eyes on him started to feel like too much. But when he turned to glance his way, Tim was sipping quietly on an ICEE and texting someone on his phone. Probably Steph. Or worse, Conner.

Dick took that exact moment to elbow Jason in the ribs, making him almost spill his popcorn all over the floor. Then he gestured at Tim in a way he thought was subtle but was actually the complete opposite.

“Grayson, why are you pointing at Tim like that?” Damian asked loudly and his hair was uncharacteristically mussed. Steph had tried to make out with him in order to toy with a group of teenage girls two rows back who’d been eyeing him up since their arrival. How she didn't have a bloody lip was beyond Jason. 

“So,” Jason said, leaning toward Tim awkwardly to block them from view and wishing he’d thought to bring a paperback. Dick was kind of hard to miss, the way he was currently pointing between Jason and Tim like an air traffic controller. “Did you read any reviews of the movie?”

Tim brought his eyes up from his phone and shot Jason a confused look. “No?”

“Oh,” Jason said. “I just thought…”

A flash of annoyance filtered across Tim’s face quickly before he smoothed out his features into perfectly controlled indifference. “It’s not really my kind of movie,” he shrugged after a pause, flicking his eyes back to his phone screen.

Jason wiped his shaking palms along the length of his thighs and tried not to focus on how the cherry slushie had stained Tim’s lips a shiny red. He could stand his ground and face off against a line of thugs with machine guns without batting an eye, but this -- sitting so close to Tim and trying to think of clever things to say -- made him feel like running away.

“Okay,” Jason said, after more awkward silence stretched between them. “What kind of movies do you like?”

Tim gave him a funny look, and Jason could imagine him trying to piece together Jason’s endgame. It wasn’t like they talked much outside of costume. It wasn’t like any of them had a lot of free time for anything that didn’t involve avoiding Bruce or near death experiences. Or both.

“Weird ones,” he answered. “ _Star Wars_ , obviously. I like mysteries and Quentin Tarantino, and sometimes, zombie flicks….”

His voice drifted a bit at the end, realizing what he’d said but making no effort to explain further. And wasn’t that just like Tim, to throw words out there and let them catch until they felt like hooks on the roof of Jason’s mouth.

“Me too,” Jason said quickly, trying to keep this night from getting even more awkward. “I like Tarantino. Hey, have you ever seen _True Romance_? That was one of the first R-rated movies I saw as a kid.”

The violence of the film had stuck with Jason as intensely as the love story. Being from a bad part of town and usually having more than one call girl pinch his cheeks between stealing tires had made him feel protective, like Clarence. He could relate to the brutality, had seen his mother’s cheek bruised more times than he could count. Pimps with bad breath and fake gold teeth were a real part of his life and seeing something like that on his mom’s shitty TV was...comforting.

He’d thought, in that moment, that things could turn out okay for him. And for the people he loved.

How terribly, awfully naive he’d been.

Tim shifted in his seat slightly, pinning Jason with unreadable eyes that seemed to miss nothing, now that he was _looking_. Certainly, he saw the awkward hand curling at the back of Jason’s neck, the stray popcorn caught in the folds of his shirt, the jittery shake of his foot against the sticky theater floor.

But there was a slight curve starting to form at the corner of Tim’s mouth. “True Romance,” he said slowly, and Jason watched his cherry lips form the words.

“Yeah.” Jason brushed a hand through his messy hair until he could feel the peach fuzz of his undercut. “I love that movie.”

“You love that movie,” Tim repeated softly, almost like he was talking to himself. His head tilted like when Jason did something unexpected on patrol, like all the facts weren’t adding up. “Hey Jay?”

Jason’s stomach fluttered at the sound of his name against Tim’s tongue. “Yeah?”

“Do you like to get pie after you see a good movie?”

The words made Jason feel warm all over. Not only had Tim seen the film, he knew it well enough to quote important lines by heart. Important, _romantic_ lines.

“Yeah,” Jason responded, even though his throat felt tight and dry with an unnameable emotion. “I love to get pie after a movie.”

Tim was grinning fully now, and his bright eyes were crinkled around the edges. Jason’s eyes drifted, again, to the gentle slope of Tim's lips and then down, to where the Mickey sweater circled the delicate, pale skin of his neck.

It always caught Jason off guard, how unpredictable Tim could be. He was so good at slipping into disguises that sometimes Jason had trouble connecting the dots on what was real and what was…imitation. And then he’d do something so fundamentally Tim — like tripping over a soda can — and he’d forget he’d ever been worried in the first place.

Just then the lights dimmed further, drawing their attentions to the big screen. Even in the darkness, Jason couldn’t stop his gaze from landing on Tim, tracing the hard profile of his face and the soft strands of dark hair that he’d tucked behind one ear.

He could watch Tim all night. And that was a dangerous thought.

So Jason let the opening scene claim his attention, watched the main character waltz his way through crowds of people wearing a skeleton for a face and tried to make himself forget that Tim was _right there_.

On his other side, Dick was sprawled out on his seat, taking up the entire armrest and most of the leg space, so that Jason had no choice but to lean toward Tim. Which was fine, except for every time he took a breath, he could smell him, like fresh cut wood, leather and the sour gummy worms he’d bought at the concession stand.

During the first action sequence, Jason was just getting lost in the familiar, addicting haze of explosives, enjoying the grey clouds of smoke and the good workmanship when Tim knocked his knee into Jason’s.

“Sorry,” Tim said quietly, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Jason grunted his reply. It wasn’t like he could have formed words, even if he’d wanted to. The explosives were getting less interesting by the second and held nothing to the spark of warmth Tim’s touch — however brief — had spent spiralling through his body.

As he clutched the armrest, the sounds of the movie fell away. Especially when Tim’s arm brushed against his as he leaned closer.

“Worm?” Tim asked, offering the bag to Jason without looking his way. His sweater brushed against Jason’s fingers on the edge of he armrest, teasing him.

Jason must have taken too long to respond, because then Tim was turning to look at him, one gummy worm hanging from the corner of his lips. It was a crime that he looked so good. 

“Uhh,” Jason mumbled. “I’m good, uhh, no thanks.”

Tim shrugged and turned back to the movie, but not before his knee knocked in Jason’s again, more gently than earlier. This time, he didn’t move it away.

The feeling was hard to describe. It was just a knee, a mass of muscle and cartilage — and something Jason was both intimately and violently familiar with. He had, after all, taken pleasure in shooting kneecaps dozens of times, to a number of deserving, horrible people.

This was different. This was Tim, warm and pressing against the line of his thigh in the dark. Tim, with his horrible Mickey sweater and obscure, fucking romantic movie references and dumb, perfect lips. This was Tim, who he wanted to unwrap and press into his mattress until he knew all of his secrets and the shape of every dark thought.

“Psst,” Dick said to his right, interrupting his thoughts.

 _What_ , Jason mouthed, turning to face him.

Dick gestured his head at Tim and then pretended to stretch, casually placing an arm behind Jason’s chair. “Do it,” Dick whispered. “Like that.”

“Fuck off,” Jason hissed back, causing an old man behind him to shush him loudly.

When his gaze fell back to Tim, he was still staring at the screen as if it held all his interest. Jason was smart enough to know that probably wasn’t entirely true.

Tim shifted again, and Jason snapped his eyes back down to where their knees were still touching. He thought of what Tim had said earlier about getting pie and wondered if he was serious.

Not even James Bond crashing an expensive car into a body of water could reclaim his attention.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make this a LONG one-shot but I couldn't wait to post it. I'm super excited by this and can't wait to share more. Yes, there is more. Yes, there will smut. Yes, I want to hear from you.
> 
> Also if you've seen and loved True Romance, I want to be your friend.
> 
> <3


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